


Ghosts in the Closets and Monsters Under the Beds

by TheFalconWarrior



Series: Life is a Rollercoaster (A Big, Twisty One) [20]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Batfam Sticks Together, Big Brother Dick Grayson, But There's So Much Stuff Some of Them Might Not Know About the Others, Gen, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, I Don't Know What I'm Doing Right Now Heh, Nothing More Explosive Than a Room Full of Tired People with Tempers, So You Know How Many Weird Tags Showed Up With That One?, everyone is trying, some people are better at it than others
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2019-10-22
Packaged: 2020-12-28 03:53:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21130325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFalconWarrior/pseuds/TheFalconWarrior
Summary: There's something wrong with Tim.





	Ghosts in the Closets and Monsters Under the Beds

**Author's Note:**

> Day 20: Breakable  
Okay, so this was mostly-finished and unedited in my doc. And tbh I don’t exactly remember why I wrote it.  
But. I'm...possibly taking a break from writing. Like, not just from posting stuff, but actually writing, and yeah happens all the time but it's the first time I'm doing it consciously. So I figured I'd post this and get it out of the way before I go off to get stuff done and find other ways to spend the hours I should be studying. Or sleeping.  
Anyways. Sorry about the rant. This one feels kinda...off. But. I'm just gonna leave it here.

Alfred feels quite pleased as he bustles about the kitchen, chopping vegetables, flipping omelets and setting bread to toast. He has seven charges sleeping upstairs, and there is much to be done before they arise. 

Alfred is most pleased when there is much work to be done for breakfast. 

Oh, they would scatter by the time the afternoon rolled around, for sure. But for now—and for at least another hour—all of Alfred’s boys (and one lovely young lady) are safe under one roof, and he takes the moments he gets. 

He can hear them, footsteps down the staircase and voices in the dining room. Master Bruce, Richard, Cassandra, Jason, Damian and Timothy. It had been a long...and nerve-wracking...night just past, so it does not surprise him that Richard and Jason are the only ones to show their faces in the kitchens. He returns their greetings, refuses their offers of assistance, and shoos both out to the dining room where the others are congregating. 

They are all seated at the table when he steps out into the dining room. Master Bruce sits in his usual spot at the head of the table, newspaper obscuring his face. Damian, seated to his right, glares down at his plate (Alfred knows it’s an attempt to hide his tiredness.) Richard, Cassandra and Jason appear to be in good spirits, conversing across the table. Alfred can’t quite catch the thread of the conversation but it is liberally peppered with muffled snickers. 

He sets down the pot of coffee by Timothy’s elbow. “No phones at the table, Master Tim.” 

Tim startles, drops his phone by his plate, the screen going black, and looks up at him, wide-eyed. “Sorry, Alfred.” 

Amused, Alfred gives him a small smile and a nod. 

Across the table, Damian clicks his tongue. “Really, Timothy, is your mind so_ useless_ you cannot remember simple rules?” 

Truly, he doesn’t know what goes down between the time it takes him to bring in the toast and the eggs. But Master Damian is quite red and Timothy is_ snarling_ at him. “--but I guess some things just _don’t change!” _

“Tim!” Richard reaches out to grab his younger brother’s shoulder, whilst Cassandra leans over to catch Damian, who looks like he is about to climb over the table. 

“Do you want to _say that again_, you imbecilic piece of--” 

“Boys,” Bruce growls, Batman voice (and normally Alfred would disapprove, but the situation seems to have deteriorated at Flash-level speeds). 

Damian subsides, but Timothy just clenches his jaw. “Oh, I’ll say it again. And you_ know it’s true_\--” 

“That’s quite enough, Master Timothy,” Alfred interrupts sharply, setting down the platter of omelets a little harder than necessary. 

Master Timothy presses his lips together tightly, eyes hard, and glares down at his plate. 

Master Richard shifts uncomfortably in his seat. Damian attacks his toast furiously with his butter knife. Cass is stone-still in her seat, and Jason is watching with a blank face but raised eyebrows. Bruce’s newspaper is flat on the table in front of him, his hand spread out over it. 

Tim continues to stare at his plate, silent. Concluding that the young man has no words to say, Alfred shakes his head and turns to return to the kitchen. 

“Jesus Christ, Replacement, what’s your deal?” 

“Shut up, Jason.” 

“Everything okay, Timmy?” 

“Why does everyone always assume there’s something wrong with me? I’m _fine_ for God’s sake.” 

Bruce slams down his knife and fork. “Tim, that’s_ enough. Cut the crap." _

Tim laughs bitterly. “What crap? Our whole _lives_ are piles upon piles of crap.” 

Bruce’s fists clench. Dick quietly shoves his chair back, sending Bruce a warning look. Bruce ignores it. “If you can’t eat at the table without picking a fight, maybe you should eat elsewhere.” 

Cass is pushing back her own chair as Dick reaches for Tim. “Bruce...” he starts. 

Tim shoves back his chair, shrugging Dick’s hand off his arm. “You know what? That’s a great idea.” And he spins around and marches out of the room. 

The silence lasts a moment. 

“Nice going, Bruce,” Dick snaps. 

Bruce pushes his chair back, standing. “I’ll be in the cave,” he says abruptly, and stalks out the door. 

“Who’s Dana Winters?” Jason asks suddenly. Dick whirls around to face the younger man, who is holding Tim’s phone (he must have forgotten it when he stormed out). 

“What?” Dick says, snatching the phone from his hands and scanning it quickly, swiping twice. “_Shit_.” Still swearing, he whirls around again, disappearing out the door. After Tim. 

“That was educational,” Jason grumbles. 

Damian clicks his tongue but Cass sends their older brother a warning glare, tinged with worry. “No, Jason.” 

*** 

Dick knocks on the door even as he twists the knob. “Timmy?” It’s locked, of course, so he reaches into his pocket for a lockpick and makes quick work of the lock. (No enhancements on bedroom locks was one of Alfred’s rules.) 

The room is empty. 

The window is open. 

“Oh, Timmy.” 

*** 

Dick is pulling on his jacket as he sweeps through the dining room. (_hurry __hurry_ _need __to go quick quick--_) 

“Where to, Dickie?” Jason calls, half lifting out of his seat. (_What’s wrong? Where’s Tim?_) 

“Where’s Tim?” Cass verbalizes, jumping up to follow her oldest brother out the room. 

Dick pauses at the front door. (_Need to go need to go—no. Important_.) “Anyone finds him—leave him alone and _tell me_. Immediately.” (_Don’t you _DARE _disobey._) 

The doors slam shut. Cass and Jason exchange looks. (_This is bad._) 

“What was that?” 

Cass spins around (Jason mirrors the movement beside her) to find Damian standing in the doorway. His lips are curled in a sneer, but his eyes are wide. (_scared, worried, what’s-going-on-what-do-I-do_)_. _

Another shared glance. Jason eyes are narrowed. Determined. (_Don’t know what the hell is going on. But we need to find him._) 

Cass jerks her head in a nod. 

“Get to the batcave, brat,” Jason announces. (_Big brother’s unavailable, have to take charge._) “See if you can track Tim. I’m taking a bike out—I'll hit civvy, you go masks, yeah Cass?” 

Cass nods firmly. “Good plan.” 

*** 

It’s Dick who finds him. Of course it is. 

Tim hears the window slide open, hears the slight jingle as the last booby trap is disabled. Sneakers hitting the floor, window sliding shut again before soft footsteps make their way through the kitchen and into the sitting room. 

“Timmy?” 

He doesn’t answer. He isn’t sure he could make the words. Just curls his arms tighter around his knees, tries to press himself small enough that maybe he would just fold out of existence. 

A hand on his foot. “Hey, little brother.” 

Part of him wants Dick to_ go away, leave him alone_ and a quieter part of him wants his big brother to be with him and hold him and make everything okay again but he’s too tired now to act on either of those feelings. He’s all cried out but he feels no less empty. It’s still quiet but he can still feel something resting on his foot, and he wonders if Dick ever really showed up (or if he’s not going to, if Tim pushed him away by being so nasty) and it’s really just a pillow or something resting on his foot. 

Curiosity burns (and wonders of wonders, he can _feel_ something) and he peeks over his crossed arms and raised knees. 

Dick is crouched in front of him, watching the top of Tim’s head presumably, so he meets Tim’s eyes the instant they leave the safety of his arms. The corner of his lip twitches, almost uncertainly. 

Tim squeezes his knees, remembering the missed call and text he’d found on his phone this morning. 

(Mr. Timothy Drake—we regret to inform you that Ms. Dana Winters passed away at 5:28 earlier this morning...) 

Dick doesn’t say anything. Just wraps his arms around Tim as he sobs and struggles to breathe without hitching, rubs his back and arms and strokes his hair. Doesn’t tell him he’s sorry, or it’s okay, just makes soft shushing sounds and hums under his breath so that Tim knows he’s_ there_. 

It’s a while before Tim can breathe—still stuttery—but without hitches that turn to sobs. 

“She didn’t deserve all this,” he gasps. 

Dick sighs against his hair. “You didn’t either.” 

Tim sniffles. 

“It’s not your fault, Tim—none of it. And if I have to keep telling you that for the rest of our lives before you believe it—I will.” 

Tim’s throat still feels tight. Maybe later he’ll have words for Dick, but he doesn’t right now. Dick falls silent too. 

Tim lets his mind drift. It quite annoyingly refuses to stay empty for longer than thirty seconds, and when he reaches a memory of Dana sitting quietly (awkwardly) at the other end of the sofa whilst Tim sat with his knees pulled up and arms around them, too tired to pretend, he feels the tears punching against his eyelids again. His breath hitches. 

Immediately, he feels Dick’s lips press against the top of his head. 

“_My little robin_,” Dick whispers into his hair, and Tim takes a deep, shaky breath. 

“I’m not Robin anymore.” 

Dick doesn’t hesitate. “Maybe,” he says quietly. “But you’ll always be_ my_ Robin. My little bird_._” 

Tim doesn’t have the words to respond to that. So he curls his arms tighter around his older brother, hoping to pour all the emotions and feelings in his head into that movement. Dick squeezes him back. 

“You really freaked out the others,” Dick says conversationally, eventually. 

“Sorry,” Tim whispers. 

Dick shakes his head. “They’re just worried ‘bout you, Timmy, it’s okay. I told ‘em I’m with you.” 

Tim nods against his shoulder. Dick runs his fingers through his hair but doesn’t say anything else. 

Dick stays with him through the next hour. When Tim finally pulls away, knowing he should really get going, Dick gives him a sad smile and tells him, “I’ll be here.”. And when he steps out of the bathroom after washing his face and catching his breath, Dick is waiting for him by the front door, keys in hand. 

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by something my sister once said, about how sometimes all you need is a hug but then you get all nasty at all the people who could give you a hug and then nobody wants to give you a hug anymore. And also by the idea that Dick calls all his siblings his Robins. And the idea that there was this whole time when it was just Dick and Tim, and how drastically Tim's life has changed between confronting Bruce and the era of Jason and Damian joining the Batfam, so there must be a lot only Dick and maybe Cass know about his past life. Like who Dana Winters is. Unless Tim talks about her, which, bats? Kinda doubt it's something he'd consciously bring up.  
Anyways. Until next time. Falcon out.


End file.
